When Alison and Zach Piepmeyer moved east from the West Coast, they brought a handful of plans: be near family, raise their children in a neighborhood with roots, and live in a nineteenth‑century row house. They found their Boerum Hill place—beautifully aged, full of quirks and, unsurprisingly, in need of TLC. Over several years they repaired, refashioned and layered, preserving the house’s historic framework while shaping rooms around the messy, funny, everyday business of family life.
Their method is anything but flashy. Rather than gutting every surface, they focused on what mattered: stabilizing original details, shielding irreplaceable elements, and adding tough, forgiving finishes where wear was inevitable. The effect reads as deliberately hand‑crafted—vintage finds beside reinforced trim, treasured keepsakes perched above smart built‑ins, and textiles selected to survive spills, marker experiments and dozens of bedtime stories.
The entryway sets the tone. Hooks, a storage bench and wipeable surfaces turn arrivals and departures into quick, predictable routines; a patterned wallpaper and a well‑placed mirror give the space personality without making it fragile. Practical items—an umbrella stand, sturdy paint (Benjamin Moore gets their vote), accessible hooks—sit comfortably alongside art and found objects so the moment you step in feels welcoming and lived in.
In the living room, Alison layered washable throws, rugs and removable slipcovers to protect heirlooms and add tactile warmth. She recovered several upholstered pieces in Sunbrella, an outdoor fabric that shrugs off marker and grape‑juice disasters. A small fainting couch—soft and worn—has become the household’s favorite perch: weekend conversations gather there, and on weeknights it transforms into the kids’ unofficial fort and reading nook.
The kitchen and dining areas are modest in scale but big on choices. Alison and Zach prioritized a layout that works for breakfasts, homework sessions and cooking at once, even if it means only one person can navigate the galley comfortably at a time. Family photos line the walls like gentle anchors to keep mornings familiar. The dining room’s dark, dramatic paint cleverly camouflages dings and quirks, while the table functions as a flexible hub—formal dinners when schedules allow, scattered plates and mismatched chairs when life doesn’t.
They completely rebuilt the bathroom, tiling it a cheerful green to brighten a compact space. With two young children, bath time is a small choreography: staggered baths and showers, playlists curated by Zach to signal wake‑up and wind‑down. Those musical cues have quietly turned routine into ritual.
The kids’ shared room balances practicality with a sense of play. Bunks, a canopy and lively bedding make it feel adventurous; letting the children choose curtains and artwork gives them ownership. Books are left in small stacks around the house to encourage spontaneous reading—Linus, the older child, often keeps a light on long after lights‑out, lost in a story. That easy access to books was a conscious choice to nurture independent reading.
The primary bedroom stays intentionally spare: a king bed for proper sleep and custom overhead cabinets that make up for the house’s lack of built‑ins. Clever storage solutions like these are typical of the Piepmeyers’ approach—practical, thoughtful interventions that still look considered.
This house feels like a family home rather than a museum: preserved where it counts, softened where life happens. Over time, small repairs and sensible upgrades have added up to a place that can be loved, used and handed down.